


Best ride this side of the Pontar

by valdomarx (cptxrogers)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Exhibitionism, Gangbang, M/M, Voyeurism, slutty geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24260479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptxrogers/pseuds/valdomarx
Summary: Jaskier arrives in Kaer Morhen with Geralt for the winter and is shocked to discover thatGeralthas been the the slutty one all along.
Relationships: Coën/Geralt, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert
Comments: 24
Kudos: 831





	Best ride this side of the Pontar

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the process of uploading some of my older fics from tumblr, so please enjoy this filth.

Jaskier has been waiting months for this, to see the famous Kaer Morhen for himself, to talk with the other witchers Geralt trained with and to hear their stories. He couldn’t believe his luck when Geralt actually agreed to bring him here for the winter, despite the fact Geralt barely seems to tolerate his presence even after all these years.

Walking through the great gate to the crumbling castle takes his breath away, the sad state of the deteriorating walls somehow an apt metaphor for the strong but underappreciated men who live here. And meeting the other witchers is a revelation, each of them throwing Geralt’s character into sharp relief in the way that seeing someone among their very old friends inevitably does. _  
_

–

The castle is as homey as one could hope for from a tumbledown ruin, and the witchers have taken care to provide Jaskier with what he might need. Despite their reputation for brutality, they are clearly considerate hosts. The room he is shown to on his first night has a spacious bed, a bowl and a pitcher of water for washing, and even a little tray with some dried fruit on it.

What it is lacking, however, is more than one thin blanket. Witchers don’t feel the cold the way humans do, it seems, and Jaskier lasts bare minutes in bed before he decides that if he doesn’t find something warm to sleep in, he might actually freeze to death before morning.

He does his best to navigate through the twisty corridors and crumbling staircases to Geralt’s room, hoping to beg a spare blanket. But as he approaches the room, he stops short when he hears something unexpected.

The door is cracked enough for him to hear wet slaps and a throaty groan, and Jaskier is not restrained enough to avoid taking a peek. Glancing through the narrow opening, he sees Geralt on his knees, face pressed into Eskel’s crotch, who has his hands twined into white hair and is thrusting down Geralt’s throat.

“Oh, you feel so good, I’ve missed your mouth,” Eskel is panting, and Geralt lets out a high pitched whine which Jaskier has never heard from him before. “Sucking me off so well.”

Jaskier’s pulse races. This is _not_ a side of Geralt he’s ever seen before. Before now, it’s been rushed and infrequent stops at brothels, Geralt disappearing with the occasional adventurous girl in the larger towns. Not _this_ , Geralt pliant and tactile, taking cock down his throat like he’s done it a thousand times.

There’s a thrill of temptation to stay and watch some more, as fucked up as that is. But Jaskier knows how Geralt values his privacy, so he forces himself to turn around and go back to his room.

Once he’s back in bed, the thought of Geralt on his knees keeps him plenty warm.

–

In the morning, Jaskier carefully and deliberately slots the “Geralt and Eskel are fucking” knowledge away and out of his conscious mind, and makes an effort to get to know his hosts. They’re prickly and a little distant, all of them, but if Jaskier can handle that from Geralt he can handle it from these Wolves as well.

He uses his most charming smile to tease a story about fighting a striga out of Eskel, then helps Vesemir prepare and pickle the last of the fresh vegetables to see them through the cold months.

When he heads to bed that night, he _swears_ he doesn’t walk past Geralt’s room on purpose. It happens to be on the route between the kitchen and his room, so it can hardly be avoided. He does, admittedly, slow just a little as he walks past Geralt’s door, left ajar once again.

But this time, he doesn’t hear the deep, scratchy voice of Eskel. This time, it’s Coen’s sinuous tones carrying down the corridor.

And, look, Jaskier never claimed to be a morally upstanding person, okay? And, well, he’s curious. He’s getting a whole new view of his friend. So he takes a peek through the gap in the door.

Geralt is stripped mostly naked and pressed face-first against the wall, with Coen behind him. Jaskier can see by the flick of Coen’s wrist and the way Geralt is practically humping the wall that he has at least two fingers inside him.

“That’s it, good boy,” Coen is saying, voice low. “Gonna open you up nice and loose before I fuck you. Is that what you want?”

“Fuck, yes, I want it, want your cock,” Geralt growls, and Jaskier nearly fucking passes out. He had no idea Geralt could be so… _vocal_.

He retreats to his room at a clip, and if when he’s in bed he shoves a hand beneath the covers while thinking about the sounds Geralt makes when he’s needy to get fucked, then no one needs to know about that, do they?

–

Jaskier spends the next day very much _not_ thinking about Geralt’s sexual proclivities, thank you very much, and remains focused on ingratiating himself with the Wolves by helping patch up some of the damaged exterior walls. It’s hard, physical work, and by the end of the day his hands are cracked and bleeding, but he’s determined to prove that he can be useful.

Geralt catches his eye at one point and gives him a strange look.

“Do I have cement on my face?” Jaskier asks.

“No,” Geralt says, “you were just looking at me like…” He blows out a breath. “Never mind.”

 _Shit_. Jaskier resolves to be more circumspect in future. He’s going to have to be if he’s going to last the winter here.

Of course, he’s circumspect _to a point_ , but he still has to walk down the corridor past Geralt’s room that evening, his pulse picking up before he even gets close.

This time, the door is wide open, without even a hint of propriety. When Jaskier walks past, there’s absolutely no way he can avoid seeing Geralt naked on all fours on the bed, Lambert behind him using a handful of long hair to yank his head back.

“That’s it, moan for me like the slut you are,” Lambert hisses, slamming into Geralt with deep, hard thrusts. “You know you fucking want it.”

Geralt’s massive shoulders flex and sweat drips down his brow, and he moans in the most filthy way. His eyes are scrunched shut, but when Jaskier’s breath hitches Geralt’s eyes fly open, looking straight at him through the doorway.

Jaskier panics, because even if Geralt having noisy sex with the door open is a bit rich, that still doesn’t excuse his gawping.

But Geralt doesn’t look angry. In fact, he stares at Jaskier in a manner that can only be described as _hungry_. Jaskier’s heart pounds.

Behind Geralt, Lambert doesn’t let up. He does throw a smirk Jaskier’s way though. “Enjoying the show?” he drawls.

“I…” For perhaps the first time in his entire life, Jaskier is at a loss for words. “Erm.”

He can’t tear his eyes away from Geralt, the way his face is slack with pleasure and his cock hangs huge and heavy between his legs. He’s dribbling seed onto the bed and it might be the most obscene and compelling thing Jaskier has ever seen.

“Best ride this side of the Pontar,” Lambert says, letting go of Geralt’s hair to smack him on the arse. He catches Jaskier’s eye with a devilish grin. “Maybe you ought to have a go at him when I’m done.”

Geralt makes a reedy, whiny noise and comes, messily, spending himself over the bed and staring at Jaskier all the while.

Jaskier gasps. He blushes. Then he turns and runs back to his room as fast as his legs will carry him.

–

The day after that, Jaskier hides out in the library, fussing over the books without reading any of them. He can’t get the image of Geralt being fucked out of his head, and he can’t imagine what the hell Geralt had been thinking leaving the door open like that. Almost like he _wanted_ to be seen. The idea makes Jaskier’s skin prickle.

Vesemir finds him in the library at midday, nodding politely and settling himself in an alcove to read a massive dusty tome on beast classification. Jaskier can’t sit still, worrying his lip between his teeth, wanting to ask for advice but unsure how to proceed.

“Out with it,” Vesemir says after a while, snapping his book shut. “Whatever you want to ask me.”

Oh. He is perceptive. “It’s, ahh, it’s about Geralt.”

Vesemir sighs. “What’s he done now?”

“Nothing! Well, nothing important. I just never realised he was so, umm, popular with the other Wolves.”

“You mean the fact he’s fucking all of them?”

Jaskier swallows wrong and coughs.

“Geralt has a lot of affection to give,” Vesemir says with a shrug. “Though gods know it’s hard to tell from that sour expression that’s always on his face.”

Jaskier fidgets. “And are you and he, you know… ?”

“No, little bard. He’s like a son to me.”

Jaskier lets out a breath. _Thank the gods._ He want sure he’d have been able to cope with that.

“Guess it’s just you and me being left out then,” he jokes.

Vesemir snorts. “Mmm. I’m sure.”

Jaskier has no idea what to make of that.

–

Jaskier dithers about returning to his room that night. It’s not that he’s been avoiding Geralt, not exactly. It’s just that he’s not quite sure what to say to him so he’s arranged for himself to be elsewhere.

What _do_ you say to your best friend when you’ve watched him being fucked and you both clearly enjoyed it?

Maybe it won’t be a problem. Maybe now Geralt has had three witchers on three consecutive nights he’ll be sated.

That doesn’t seem very likely. Jaskier catches himself hoping it’s not.

Eventually he caves, heading to his room through the drafty corridors and down the crumbling steps, his hands sweating as he approaches Geralt’s room.

This time, it’s quiet. No panting or whispered words or sounds of carnal activity. That’s the tiniest bit disappointing, if he’s honest.

The door is open though, candlelight spilling out onto the floor. He looks in as he passes and Geralt is lounging on his bed, wearing a loose shirt which for some godsforsaken reason is unbuttoned all the way down, and a pair of trousers tight enough to leave little to the imagination. Jaskier inhales sharply.

“Jaskier,” Geralt looks up, smiling coyly, and that’s an unnerving expression to see on his face. “I was hoping you’d pass by.”

“Oh? Right. Yes, well, here I am. And here you are. Though I see you’re, ahh, alone tonight.”

“Not any more. Not now you’re here.” Geralt’s eyes looks almost black in the flickering light.

“I suppose that’s technically true…”

“Did you like watching?” Geralt asks it so casually, like he’s discussing Jaskier’s wine preferences. “Last night, and the nights before?”

Jaskier swallows. He can’t very well deny it. “Yeah. I liked it.”

Geralt smirks. “I thought so. You want to watch again? Or, better yet, join in this time?”

It hadn’t even occurred to Jaskier that joining in could be an option. An image flashes through his mind: Geralt bend over, spreading himself for him, making those delicious noises as Jaskier warms him up. He feels light headed as all the blood in his body rushes southward. “You’d… like that?”

Geralt cups himself through his trousers, stroking the outline of his hardening cock through the fabric and making sure Jaskier sees what he’s doing. “I’d like that a lot.”

Jaskier is still standing in the doorway like an idiot when he hears footsteps and raucous laughter echoing down the corridor.

Eskel, Lambert and Coen come barreling toward Geralt’s room and Lambert gives him a wink. “Back again?” he asks Jaskier. “We were hoping you’d return.”

Coen claps him on the back. “Welcome to the team.”

They’re a _team_? Jaskier looks back to Geralt, who is leering at the four of them and playing with himself. Apparently, yup, they’re the _let’s all fuck Geralt_ team now.

“Come on, Jask, don’t be shy,” Eskel smiles at him warmly. “I’ll show you how Geralt likes it. We’ll even let you go first.” Lambert scoffs at that but Eskel cuffs him round the back of the head. “Be polite to our guest for once in your life,” Eskel chides.

The three of them push past Jaskier and into the room, laughing and chatting, though Jaskier still stands frozen on the threshold. He looks back to Geralt, who has taken his dick out of his trousers and is ignoring the other wolves to stare at Jaskier.

“Are you sure?” Jaskier asks, quiet.

Geralt grins wickedly. “So _very_ sure.”

Jaskier feels like he has been handed his life’s desires on a silver platter. His heart races, imagining everything he wants to do to Geralt, everything he _can_ do now.

He takes a deep breath and steps into the room.


End file.
